WHEN IT IS HOT

Consider Mr. Shadrach,

Of fiery furnace fame:

He did n't bleat about the heat

Or fuss about the flame.

He did n't stew and worry,

And get his nerves in kinks,

Nor fill his skin with limes and gin

And other “cooling drinks.”

Consider Mr. Meshach,

Who felt the furnace too:

He let it sizz nor queried “Is

It hot enough for you?”

He did n't mop his forehead,

And hunt a shady spot;

Nor did he say, “Gee! what a day!

Believe me, it's some hot.”

Consider, too, Abed-nego,

Who shared his comrades’ plight:

He did n't shake his coat and make

Himself a holy sight.

He did n't wear suspenders

Without a coat and vest;

Nor did he scowl and snort and howl,

And make himself a pest.

Consider, friends, this trio —

How little fuss they made.

They did n't curse when it was worse

Than ninety in the shade.

They moved about serenely

Within the furnace bright,

And soon forgot that it was hot,

With “no relief in sight.”